


Prompt #4

by Sijglind



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Sam, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Teenage!Sam, Weecest, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:36:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sijglind/pseuds/Sijglind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://loki-iago.tumblr.com">loki-ago</a>: "Putting my bashful boots on here... Maybe you could write one where Dean gives Sammy a spanking?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt #4

**Author's Note:**

> So, Sammy's around 15 or 16 here (couldn't really decide, but oh well), therefore the Underage warning. Enjoy!
> 
> [Give me a prompt](http://incestuousfricklefrackle.tumblr.com/ask) on my [tumblr](http://incestuousfricklefrackle.tumblr.com).

Dean is angry.

No, that’s not the right word. Dean’s _fucking furious_.

He’s covered in mud and smelling of smoke and his shirt is clinging uncomfortably to his back, right between his shoulder blades, sweaty and disgusting. His right cheekbone is throbbing and he can feel the bruise already blooming, and his ribs make themselves known with each breath he takes.

But all that, shitty as it may be, is not what’s responsible for his bad mood.

He’s holding the motel room door open for Sammy, mouth a hard line, eyes narrowed, as he watches his baby brother shuffle into the room, shoulders slumped and head hanging so that he can hide behind his ridiculously floppy bangs.

The door is thrown shut with more force than necessary, and Sam flinches, slumps even more if possible, one arm gripping the other’s elbow as if that would be enough to shield himself from his brother’s anger. Fat chance.

Dean positions himself between his brother and the door, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders squared, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. His anger is radiating off him in waves and Sam is fidgeting beneath his unblinking glare, the tips of his sneakers digging into the dirty motel carpet.

“Never. Do that again,” Dean finally says, through his teeth, the words sharp and bitten off, and Sam worries his bottom lip but looks up, eyes full of defiance. Dean can feel the worn cotton of his shirt giving beneath the pressure of his hands, hears the seams popping, but he doesn’t let go of his own sleeves, because he’s scared he’s gonna do something reckless and unforgivable as soon as his hands are free to grab his brother.

Sam seems to take courage from Dean’s continuing silence, rolls his shoulders slightly and straightens his spine, his chin rising, arms falling to his sides, hands balled to fists.

“She would’ve gotten you,” he says with all the cockiness of his teenage years, but there’s a nearly inaudible tremor to his voice that Dean catches. “What do you expect me to do, Dean? Stand by and watch you being torn apart by some shitty vengeful spirit?”

Dean takes a step forward, and Sam makes as if to take a step back in turn, a tiny twitch of his left leg, but then he decides against it and holds his ground, raises his chin even more to meet Dean’s gaze.

“I expect you to find another way to distract those damn sons of bitches than throwing yourself in front of me,” Dean shoots back and uncrosses his arms, one hand coming forward to grab Sam by the front of his shirt, bunching it in his fist and pulling his brother closer, leaving only inches between their faces.

“Are we clear?” He asks, low and dangerous, in a voice that allows no talking back. But he’s talking to Sammy, the fucking prince of back-talk, and Sam’s getting angry now, too. His cheeks are flushed and his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth a thin line.

“No,” he says, and Dean wants to punch him. “It worked, didn’t it? We both got a bit roughened up, but the spirit’s gone, we’ve both been worse after a hunt!”

 _Roughened up_ , Sam says and Dean sees him flying through the air after a punch to his gut by the spirit, sees him landing on the wet ground of the graveyard, unmoving while the bitch advances towards him, sees his own hands fumbling with the matches while he tries to light one of the goddamn things—and he snaps.

He lets go of Sam’s shirt and grabs his brother’s neck none too gently, pulls him towards one of the beds and sits down, Sam stumbling, forgetting to protest because of his confusion until Dean shoves down his jeans and boxers and flings him over his knees, naked ass in the air, half of his torso hanging down, tips of his hair brushing against the carpet.

Only then does Sam remember how to talk, and he says, “Dean, what—“ and tries to pull his clothes back up, fingers fumbling with his waistband, but Dean takes both of his wrists and presses them, crossed, against the small of Sam’s back, holding them in place with one of his own larger hands, fingers encircling them like a vice.

Dean brings his hand down hard on Sam’s ass, two slaps on each cheek, making red blossom immediately on his brother’s skin. Sam’s breath hitches, and he squirms, startled on Dean’s lap, bucking up against his brother’s restraining hold on him, but Dean doesn’t let go and leans down instead, whispers into Sam’s ear, “you gonna shut up now, Sammy, and you’re gonna take it.”

Sam shudders and turns his head, trying to protest, but the words die on his lips when he sees Dean’s face. He shakes his head, slightly, and gets another slap on his left ass cheek, the sound sharp and reverberating through the silence in the room, Sam’s surprised shout following in its wake.

He looks incredulous, confused, but Dean isn’t joking. He’s so goddamn angry at his brother, and he has to let it out.

So he does. Two more strikes against the soft skin, making Sam rock on his lap and gasp. He’s twisting his hands in Dean’s grasp, but it’s only halfhearted, so Dean ignores it, brings his hand down again and again, always on the same spots on each rounded cheek, watches as pink turns to dark red. Slowly, Sam relaxes, only tensing for the fraction of a second when Dean smacks his ass or the back of his thighs.

For a bit, the sound of sharp slaps, Sam’s strangled gaps and Dean’s heavy breathing is the only noise in the room.

“You’re never.” _Slap._

“Gonna do that.” _Slap._

“Again.” _Slap._

“You got that, Sammy?” _Slap._

“Yes,” Sam groans and Dean rewards him with another slap against his right cheek, feels Sam rocking forward with the blow, his hip rubbing against Dean’s painfully hard dick. His hand is in the air again, ready to come down for another slap, when his vision finally clears of the red and he comes to his senses, sees his brother’s angry red ass, feels him squirming on his lap, the movement sending sparks of pleasure through his dick and up his spine.

“God, Sammy,” Dean chokes out and lets go immediately, and Sam slumps as if he’s boneless, arms slipping off his back to dangle next to each side of his head. Dean’s hands are shaking when he reaches out to softly touch the burning, tender, red skin of Sam’s ass, and Sam hisses through his teeth, makes Dean snap his hand back as if burned.

“God,” Dean repeats and takes Sam by his shoulders to gently pull him off his lap and to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says while he holds Sam up with his arms beneath his arm pits, Sam swaying dangerously. His face is flushed and his eyes glassy with held-back tears, his bangs clinging to his forehead with sweat.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes, but Sam shakes his head, mumbles, “’s alright, Dean,” and looks to the side, worrying his bottom lip.

It’s then that Dean becomes aware of the small wet spot on his left thigh, and he takes in a sharp breath, startled, eyes dropping to his brother’s crotch—and yes, Sam’s cock is hard, standing up proudly, head slick with pre-come, and Dean feels like his own legs are about to give out. Sam’s hands come up to hide his hard-on from Dean’s view, but Dean pulls him in, against his chest, one arm around Sammy’s waist, the other hand tipping up his chin.

“’s alright, baby,” he says, voice rough, pupils blown as he forces Sam to look at him. “’s alright, gonna take care of you.”

Dean leans in and kisses Sam, gently, lips brushing softly, tongue licking along the seam of Sam’s lips to ask to be let in and Sam complies, parts them on a silent gasp. Dean’s hand roams over Sam’s back, following his spine towards his ass, caressing oh so softly over the abused flesh and he’s reveling in the needy groan he draws from Sam, gently nips his throat when Sam’s head falls back. His hand slides over Sam’s hip to his crotch, closes around his cock and tugs, thumb brushing over the head.

“Dean,” Sam moans, blissed-out, and Dean eases him onto the bed, on his stomach.

“Gonna fuck you good, baby,” he says as his eyes wander down the expanse of Sam’s back, down towards his perfect ass, showing off his red hand prints like a brand, a claim. His cock twitches. Shirt, jeans and briefs are discarded quickly, and Dean climbs onto the bed, kneeling between his brother’s spread thighs. He leans in, supporting his weight on one arm, his free hand taking hold of his cock to rub it over Sam’s red ass cheeks, groaning when he feels the hot skin against the sensitive head of his dick and catches Sam shudder.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promises while he takes lube and condom out of the nightstand drawer.

Sam wiggles his hips, cock grinding down against the sheets in search of friction when he hears the snap of the lube being opened and he says, “Dean, _please_ ,” all needy and delicious, a sound that goes straight to Dean’s cock and makes him bite the inside of his cheek to hold in an unmanly whimper.

“Shh, Sammy,” Dean says as he slicks up his fingers and discards the lube. He pulls Sam’s hip up so that he’s on his knees, head buried in the sheets, presenting his perfect ass to his big brother, and Dean has to take deep, calming breaths to keep himself from foregoing the prep and just shove his cock into Sammy’s hole.

He’s careful when he pushes one finger into his brother, waits for Sam to relax again before he moves it, slowly in and out until he feels it’s time to push in a second digit. Sam keeps on groaning and begging for more, faster, but Dean shushes him, free hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of Sam’s back.

“C’mon, baby, only a bit more,” he says and scissors his fingers before pushing deeper and curling them to brush over Sam’s prostrate as a reward, making Sam squirm.

Only when Sam’s all slicked up and loose, he withdraws and rolls on the condom, watching Sam’s hole flutter around nothing. Dean sits up on his knees and aligns his cock, spreading Sam’s cheeks with one hand, slips the head of his dick into his brother.

He pushes in slowly, waiting again and again to help his brother adjust to the stretch and only when he’s fully inside, Sam’s ass cheeks pressing against his hips, he takes the time to take a proper look.

The sight is marvelous; Sam’s perfect tight hole stretched around his cock, his ass cheeks still slightly red with Dean’s hand prints, and he groans, long and drawn-out. It takes all his willpower to hold back and not start pounding Sam into the mattress, hard and fast.

“Jesus, Sammy,” he whispers, rough and breathless, “you have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now. Fucking perfect, baby.”

Sam clenches around him and groans, hands fisting the sheets next to his head, and Dean starts moving, draws out slowly and pushes back in, speeding up a bit with each thrust until he’s reached an even rhythm that makes Sam squirm and press back, meeting him halfway.

“Harder,” Sam begs and Dean complies, making Sam’s breath hitch on each thrust when the still tender flesh of his ass cheeks meets Dean’s hips.

Dean reaches around Sam’s waist and pulls him up, sitting back on his haunches with Sam in his lap, Sam’s head falling back onto his shoulder so that his moans and little cries aren’t muffled by the pillows anymore. Dean’s hand is around Sam’s cock and with each thrust, he drives Sam forward into his fist, his hips digging into Sam’s ass cheeks, a perfect balance of pleasure and pain if the noises Sam’s making by now is anything to go by.

“Dean, ‘m close,” Sam chokes out and Dean speeds up his thrusts, snapping his hips, thumb brushing over the head of Sam’s cock, pressing slightly into the slit, and Sam goes taut like the string of a bow, back arching, clenching around Dean’s cock as he comes with a shout.

Dean fucks him through his orgasm, come-slick hand not letting go of Sam’s dick until he feels it going flaccid and Sam is slumping against him, loose-limbed and fucked-out.

“So good for me, baby,” Dean says and nips at Sam’s shoulder, his hands taking hold of Sam’s hips to lift him up and bring him back down on his cock, driving it in hard and fast. It only takes a couple more thrusts until his rhythm turns erratic and he’s coming himself, biting down hard into Sam’s shoulder, groaning his release into his brother’s skin.

Sam is half asleep when Dean finally pulls out and helps him lie back down on his stomach in the other bed, but there’s a sleepy smile on his lips, so Dean doesn’t feel bad at all when he’s gotten rid of the condom and slips into the bed next to his brother, fingers trailing over the red marks on Sam’s ass.

Right before he falls asleep, Dean makes a mental note to find out if Sammy’s got any other kinks.


End file.
